


With a little help from my friends

by bramblesforbreakfast



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Feuilly Week, M/M, Multi, autumn themed, just a little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblesforbreakfast/pseuds/bramblesforbreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly is hard working and too humble for his own good. So his boyfriend and friends decide that he needs a day off. And all of them contribute their best to Feuilly's day off - to make it the best day of Feuilly's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a little help from my friends

It had been a hell of a week and it was not getting better when his alarm sounded too early on Saturday morning.

Groaning, Feuilly rolled onto his back and patted blindly around his night-stand, intend to silence the alarm from his twice repaired alarm-clock. One time, Bahorel had flung it against the wall in a fit of temper after being awoken after a night out. Feuilly had forgotten to turn it off after leaving for work and Bahorel had silenced the clock more than efficiently. The second time, Grantaire had slept over after a particularly bad house-party and had fallen out the bed, smashing the wobbly stool Feuilly used as a night-stand and sending the alarm-clock to an early grave. Had it not been for Feuilly's nimble fingers and expertise with fixing things, he would have had to get himself a new one.

Cracking an eye open, Feuilly sighed. Dim light sifted through the flimsy curtains in front of his windows when he sat up and stretched. Looking over his shoulder, Feuilly saw with a twitch in his guts the empty side of his narrow bed. Bahorel had not slept here for a few days now. In fact, Feuilly wondered when exactly Bahorel had stayed over the last time. Sometimes he would go home with Feuilly after their meetings and leave after Feuilly had fallen asleep, sometimes not even waiting so long.

Feuilly pushed himself off the bed and trudged into his tiny bathroom to take a quick shower. It was a Saturday morning and not yet light outside. He would have a quiet shift at the café and afterwards a busy late afternoon and evening at the cinema he worked at on weekends. Going through the schedule, he remembered that one of the greater blockbusters of the year had started on the past Thursday which meant a very, very busy Saturday.

Feuilly switched off the steady stream of water and hurried to get dry and dressed after stepping out of the shower. The thermostats he had installed on all his radiators would not heat his flat until the late afternoon. It was cheaper that way and helped Feuilly to get awake faster in the mornings. And why heat an empty flat? It was just a waste of money.

Brewing himself a cup of tea while going over the newspaper from the day prior, Feuilly shovelled a bowl of cereals into his mouth and tried to focus on points to discuss at the next meeting. He had talked to Enjolras on Wednesday and had gotten another project going in the circle of Les Amis de l'ABC: a collection for a local orphanage, one that Feuilly knew from his own time in the city's facilities for children without parents. It was to be closed if not another benefactor was found. So Feuilly had set his mind to being just that benefactor by collection money, trying to open the people's eyes about the poverty of orphaned children and hoped for the citizens of Paris to finally not only care for themselves, but also for the lesser affluent.

Balancing his cup in one hand, he fished a marker out of his drawer and circled a few ads where people were looking for temporary workers. His job at the cinema would end by the end of October which meant only two more weeks to go. And he desperately needed another job after that one ended if he wanted to keep the flat he was living in. He would do almost anything for money by now in order to be able to pay the tuition fees of the evening school he was going to every week and keeping the little flat he had grown so fond of.

Gulping down the rest of his tea, Feuilly grabbed his wallet and keys from the rack in the narrow hallway, put the cup in their vacant place and put on scarf and jacket before hurrying out. The house was quiet and empty as on every Saturday morning since he had moved here. But Feuilly was not bothered about that. He was used to it and would not want it any other way. He was used to working for his money and intent on reaching his goals without the help of others. There were plenty of other people out there who needed charity far more than he did!

In a quick walk, dodging the Metro because he had not gotten himself a ticket for October as the repairs on his fridge had swallowed more money than he had thought, Feuilly reached the small, hip-looking café he was working in. The signs were still set to 'closed' and Feuilly sighed. He suspected that his co-worker – an unmotivated student whose parents forced him to work at least part-time during his economics-degree – was late already for it was his task to open up the shop before Feuilly arrived.

Fiddling for his keys in the alley behind the building, Feuilly willed himself to not care about that. He would open up the shop and still smile at Benoit once he came in. He would mind his own business and keep the environment of the shop friendly and comradely. There was no use in stirring a fight just because the boy was late.

Just when Feuilly had finally found the key to the café, the door was opened from within and he faced a familiar face. Wide, dark eyes in an almond shape, tousled, black curls bound back in a pony-tail and a harsh face that hid a soft heart – Éponine smiled beaming at him while she took out the trash.

“Ehm...?!”, made Feuilly and blinked rapidly. Did he mix up the days again and it was not even Saturday?!

“And a good morning to you too, Feuilly.”, grinned Éponine and went into the café again, leaving the door open for Feuilly to follow.

“What are you doing here, 'Ponine?”, asked Feuilly confused and checked the clipboard next to the entrance, where the owner always hung up the list for the monthly shifts.

“Working, what does it look like?”, she asked dryly and opened up a pack of beans to fill the coffee-machines with.

“No you're not.”, said Feuilly carefully and pointed to the list where his name dominated the column for the day.

Éponine cast a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes following Feuilly's finger. Then she put down the coffee-beans, grabbed the pen that hung in the breast pocket of the apron she wore and squeezed past Feuilly. The pen rasped over the paper a few times and Feuilly's name disappeared. Scratching, Éponine wrote her own name down and turned to him with a devious grin: “Yes, I am.”

“But...”, started Feuilly protesting who couldn't possibly understand what made Éponine act like this. A quick look showed him that she had worked the late shift yesterday and would work the afternoon shift today and he frowned.

“Listen, Ging”, Éponine's nickname for him, he would not bother protest again, “Just take it as it comes, all right? You haven't had a day off in months so just roll with it!”

Grinning, she drew the little notepad she used and licked the tip of the pencil before warbling: “What can I get you while you wait?”

“I don't understand.”, protested Feuilly feebly but felt that he even lacked energy to ask her to leave and leave his shift to him.

“Sorry, we've run out of 'I don't understand'-s yesterday but could I interest you in some coffee?”, she asked and winked.

“'Ponine, what's going on?”, asked Feuilly and put his hand on her shoulder, “Are you in trouble? Do you need extra money? I could help you, you know! You don't need to work this shift, you have been...”

“Cut it out, would you?!”, asked Éponine, her temper rising and grabbed his wrist to drag him to a table in the corner, one of the booth-tables that Feuilly liked because they were surrounded by plants and paintings, simulating a more private setting than the little bistro-tables in the middle of the small café. She pressed Feuilly into the booth and puffed herself up in front of him, repeating: “What can I get you while you wait?”

“While I wait?”, repeated Feuilly confused, “Wait for what?”

As if on queue, a knock by the door made them both look up. Bousset was pressing his hands against the glass, shielding his eyes to peer inside the café. Jolly and Musichetta stood behind him, the girl waiving at Éponine once she had made her way to the front door and unlocked it.

“Are we still on time?”, asked Bousset breathless while the three of them toppled into the store, clad in too much scarf and jacket to be normal – probably Joly had been fretting about the first autumn chill and had made them wear it.

“Yes, you are.”, said Éponine and Feuilly – hidden by some plants – heard the smile in her voice.

“So he's not here then?”, asked Joly and sounded relieved.

“Yes, he is.”, laughed Éponine and led them over to the booth where Feuilly made eyes large as saucers upon seeing his friends approach this early in the morning, “Was there ever a day when Feuilly was _not_ overly punctual?”

“I guess not!”, sighed Musichetta and leaned forward to kiss both of Feuilly's cheeks in greeting, “So good to see you, Laurant!”

“Hello, Chetta.”, said Feuilly and watched his friends slide into the booth, taking off scarves and jackets – Joly was even wearing mittens.

“Brrrr.”, made Joly and rubbed his hands, “How on earth can you do this every morning, Feuilly? I'd probably die of pneumonia in less than a week.”

“That's because Feuilly is not such a hypochondriac as you!”, grinned Éponine and drew her notepad again, “What can I get you?”

“Tea, please. Camomile if possible.”, ordered Joly, his eyes already scanning the menu.

“Coffee.”, said Musichetta in unison with Bousset, exchanging a fond look afterwards.

“And for you?”, asked Éponine all business, looking at Feuilly expectantly.

“One big portion of what the fuck is going on!!!”, said Feuilly, fighting down his rise of temper successfully and glared at Éponine.

“Well...”, started Bousset but Musichetta was quicker: “You see, Laurant, we were worrying about you.”

“About me?”, asked Feuilly confused and tried to read in her face, “Why on earth would you worry about me?”

“You're overworking yourself.”, said Joly matter of factly, “It's just not healthy, the workload you take upon yourself.”

“Your job in the air-conditioning factory, the evening school, your two weekend-jobs and all the projects you shoulder for the ABC, it's just too much, you know?!”, asked Bousset and shook his head critically.

“So we decided you need a day off.”, explained Éponine and pointed with the end of her pen to herself, “That's why I'll be working your shift this morning. And before you say anything else, you're welcome!”

With that she whirled around and bustled towards the counter where she got started on their order. Feuilly looked back at his friends who all smiled fondly at him, seemingly sensing his confusion as Bousset said: “Look, Feuilly. We know that you don't want any charity or help from us and that' fine, really.”

“But we thought that one day off where we just spend time with you would not hurt you.”, added Joly and reached over to pat Feuilly's hands that were folded on the table.

“In fact, with the end of your campaign in all the primary schools... you know, the one about racism-prevention with Jehan... we really thought you should catch a break. Even Enjolras said so.”, supplied Bousset.

“And when even _Enjolras_ says so...”, reinforced Musichetta and hooked herself under with Feuilly whose head was reeling.

“But you know that I do enjoy all those things.”, said Feuilly, stubbornly holding onto the notion that he needed no charity, even when it was something as simple as a day of leisure.

“We do. But we also know that you have a tendency to work yourself to an early grave.”, said Joly concerned and shook his head, “So we decided that today, you have a day off.”

“You decided?”, asked Feuilly sceptical and looked at all of them in a row, “And what if I don't want to have a day off?”

“We figured you would say that.”, said Éponine who was back with their order, “And for this situation Enjolras has told me to tell you that you will be excluded from any further projects of Les Amis and banned from future meetings.”

“He wouldn't!”, said Feuilly shocked and hoped against reason that Enjolras had not said that.

“He would, you know he would.”, nodded Bousset and took a sip from his coffee while Éponine placed black tea with milk and citron in front of Feuilly.

“And I do not get a say in the matter?”, asked Feuilly and leaned back defeated, quickly calculating how much money he would loose if he was not working this morning. He would probably have to cancel on his plans on getting Bahorel the expensive DVD-Box of classical horror films he had had in mind for Christmas and instead go with a few selected titles from the box – without extra material on them...

“Nope.”, said Musichetta and nudged him, “You only get to enjoy yourself, is all.”

“And why are you here so early?”, asked Feuilly suddenly while Éponine was giving Benoit the dress-down of his life in the back room.

“We're part one of your day off.”, explained Joly excited, “We are having a coffee here and then we'll be relocating to that British tea room you always wanted to go to.”

“What?”, asked Feuilly and watched Bousset check his watch.

“You know, the one close to the Musain? Jehan said you've been gazing longingly at the menu whenever you pass that café.”, explained Bousset and Musichetta added: “We have a table booked for four. Full English breakfast and all the rest.”

“But that'll cost a fortune!”, gulped Feuilly nervous and tried to remember how much money was left in his wallet. If he was unfortunate, it was not even enough for this tea in front of him. Why did he always forget to go to the cash-machine? Maybe it was some kind of an avoidance-tactic.

“Don't you worry about that, Monsieur Feuilly.”, smiled Musichetta and patted his fingers again, “We'll take care of that.”

“But...”

“No but-s, Feuilly!”, said Joly resolutely, “We were not allowed to get anything for your birthday, so think of this as a late birthday present.”

“But you did get something for my birthday!”, protested Feuilly, “I asked you to chip in the collection for new books for the paediatric ward at Combeferre's hospital!”

“Ah, that's right.”, said Bousset and scratched his head noisily, “Quite forgot about that.”

Joly just shrugged his shoulders and said: “Too late, table's already booked and it would be a shame to cancel it.”

“But...”

“You have no choice, love!”, said Musichetta fondly, “Remember, no say in the matter, just enjoy yourself.”

Groaning, Feuilly lifted his cup and emptied the tea in one go, already wondering what else his friends had planned for him.

 

~*~

 

“That was probably the best breakfast I've ever had!”, sighed Bousset and leaned back, rubbing his belly dreamily while Feuilly shook his head about him, smiling fondly.

“That was probably the most humongous amount of food I've ever seen a person _eat_. You'll have a gastrorrhexis if you eat one more bite!“, warned Joly and finished off the rest of his porridge while Musichetta watched her boys fondly.

Feuilly had to admit that Bousset was not wrong at all. The breakfast had been one of the best things he had had for years. It was pricey, that was sure, he had checked the menu, but it was good. Thinking about how much he had had, he immediately got a bad concious about how much his friends would have to pay just because he had had to have another cup of this ridiculously expensive English tea brand.

“Laurant, stop worrying!”, commanded Musichetta and kicked him lightly under the table, “We told you it was fine and if you don't stop worrying, I'll make you drink another cup of tea!”

“Or we'll order champaign, the best they have!”, threatened Bousset and winked.

“I just don't feel comfortable with you paying for all of this!”, said Feuilly and scratched the back of his head, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. He had always been unable to accept small kindnesses from friends, ever since he met Les Amis. He was used so much to looking after himself – alone and without help – that he still had the feeling he was burdening them whenever they invited him or bought something for him. He was not their responsibility nor their duty. That would have been his parent's job if they had not left him so early.

“Bah, don't talk nonsense!”, laughed Joly and waived his hand about, “Considering your stress level... which by the way will one day result in a huge peptic ulster if you don't slow down any time soon...”

“What Noël means to say is”, cut in Musichetta who seemed the only person on this planet using their first names, “that you deserve all of this. Remember when you fixed the air-condition in my flat? Without you I would have been baked last summer.”

“Or when you fixed the shoe-cupboard in my hall for the millionth time?”, asked Bousset who had a habit of tripping over the cupboard and knocking it over every other time he entered his flat.

“Or when you helped me move in with Bousset last autumn!”, chipped Joly in and nodded gravely.

“Or when you...”, started Bousset but Feuilly just raised both hands, red as a beetroot and laughed nervously: “All right, all right! I get it! You can stop now.”

“The fact is”, said Bousset and smiled grateful, “You are always there when we need a hand... no matter for what. And we never really thank you properly. We don't want to take you for granted and we think you deserve to be acknowledged from time to time. So please, stop racking your brain about how much this will cost and just see it as a thank you!”

“Yeah, Feuilly!”, confirmed Joly, “Thank you, we mean it!”

Feuilly felt how his face heated up even more and resisted the urge to hide behind his hands. Instead he just looked down to the table where his fingers were closed around the handle of his tea cup, shaking slightly now. He was not overly used to expressions of gratitude, of friendship or even fondness. It was still hard for him to believe that these people cared deeply for him and wanted him around for his sake. He had never experienced a family or properly working ties amongst individuals due to his upbringing. Even with Bahorel it was still hard sometimes and Feuilly loved him more than his life.

“Right, back to business!”, said Joly, intent on clearing the air and lightening the mood around the table again, “We have about half an hour left before we need to be at the checkpoint.”

“Checkpoint?”, asked Feuilly suspicious and raised an eyebrow, pushing his dreary thoughts to the back of his mind.

“Yes, the checkpoint!”, grinned Joly and winked, “And we won't tell you anything else because it's all a secret.”

“What is?”, asked Feuilly confused and looked to Musichetta for guidance.

“Our plan for your day off!”, explained Bousset and emptied his cup before getting up to pay for their breakfast at the counter.

“You've planned an entire day for me?!”, asked Feuilly and felt panic rise again, “But my shift at the cinema!!!”

“Is covered.”, smiled Joly and nodded, “Bahorel called one of your co-workers and some guy was willing to cover.”

“But...”

“Stop but-ting, love.”, smiled Musichetta and got up while Bousset came back to the table, accidentally dropping his wallet and spilling coins all over the floor. They all crouched down and helped him to pick it up and when they surfaced, Musichetta looked at her watch.

“Right, time to go.”, she announced and they started bundling up again. Feuilly picked up his jeans jacket with the patch at the side that hid the hole Grantaire accidentally burnt in there with his cigarette one time at a rally and put it on, eyeing his friends wearily. He had no idea what they had planned and wondered if Bahorel knew about all of this. He had insisted yesterday to go home and not stay at Feuilly's, although Feuilly had clung to him and kissed his neck – something Bahorel could seldom resist. But Bahorel had remained unmoved and had left. Feuilly huffed.

“What's wrong?”, asked Bousset and linked arms with Feuilly, a habit that the tall ginger could probably never get used to.

“Nothing.”, he said cryptically and followed the others out of the tea room and into the slightly chill wind of this autumn morning. The leaves on the trees had started to colour a few days ago and crowded the pavement in colourful heaps, the light seemed softer than on other days while they strolled along the street to a destination Feuilly did not know.

“See, I don't really believe that.”, smiled Bousset and winked, “What's bothering you?”

“It's nothing, really. How is your hand, by the way?”, asked Feuilly because Bousset had managed to catch his hand in the car door a few days ago. And Feuilly liked to talk about others more than talking about himself. He was not used to stand in the spotlight let alone talk to anyone about his problems or feelings.

“No, don't change the topic!”, said Bousset and threatened him with an extended forefinger, “We were talking about _you_. But the hand is good, thanks for asking! So, what's wrong?!”

“It's...”, begun Feuilly but hesitated again. He had never been the one to share his personal problems with the world – not even with his friends. Normally he would listen and try to solve problems, he was not the one to burden others with his problems, they had their own.

“All right...”, sighed Bousset and let go off Feuilly's arm, “You don't need to tell me. I only thought... well, you know I'm there for you, okay?”

“Thank you.”, said Feuilly through a constricted throat. He appreciated the effort but was just not ready to open up that much. Even Bahorel had had to wait a few months before getting to know when Feuilly bothered something.

“Here we are!”, smiled Musichetta and turned to Feuilly, standing under a large 'METRO' sign, seemingly waiting for something to happen.

“And now?”, asked Feuilly, leaning against the pole of the sign and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The air had turned chilly and he regretted not taking his half-finger mittens with him.

“We wait.”, said Joly, shoving up his sleeve and drawing down his mittens to check his watch.

“Unusual for her to be late.”, muttered Musichetta and shook her head while Bousset laughed: “But highly typical for _him_! Maybe his socks didn't match his watch or something!”

“No, my leather jacket didn't match Cosette's scarf, so I need to go back change!”, came a voice up the stairs from the Metro station, dripping with irony and mirth.

Feuilly turned around and watched two people jog up the stairs from the Metro. Courfeyrac was grinning from ear to ear while he nudged Bousset companionably and winked before turning to Feuilly.

“Happy Feuilly day, Feuilly!”, he warbled and hugged Feuilly who patted the smaller man's back hesitantly.

“What?”, he asked when Courfeyrac let go off him and beamed.

“Well, _I_ call it Feuilly-day... What else should I write in my calender?”, he laughed and shook his head, looking so completely thrilled and happy that Feuilly could not help but smile back.

“Geez, Courfeyrac.”, said a soft voice behind Feuilly and he turned around to find Cosette, dressed in a knee-length pearl-coloured trench coat and an orange scarf around her neck, shaking her head at the other man, “You are overwhelming poor Feuilly. Just take a deep breath.”

“Sorry, sometimes I just get too excited for my surroundings!”, laughed Courfeyrac and turned to Joly while Feuilly looked back at Cosette.

“Hello, Feuilly.”, she smiled and patted his lower arm, “Did you have a good morning?”

“Well, a confusing one for sure.”, he said and smiled at her, “I still have no idea what's going on, but I bet you will tell me shortly.”

“Not directly.”, she said a little hesitantly but kept up the warm smile on her face, “But you'll find out soon rather than later.”

“I shall hope so.”, said Feuilly disappointed and watched Courfeyrac who bickered with Bousset about his remark from a few minutes earlier, clearly affronted that Bousset should think that of him.

“So, are we going for lunch or...?”, asked Feuilly and looked at Cosette.

“Oh no.”, she said and beamed, “We are going shopping!”

“Please, no!”, said Feuilly and felt horror rising in his guts. He knew the tales about Courfeyrac dragging Enjolras to shop for him or that time he dressed Marius for his engagement party. It had ended in tears – and it was not Marius crying.

“Don't be daft!”, said Courfeyrac – sounding too thrilled already, “We're going to have a great time!”

“You know I don't have the money for anything fancy... or new!”, protested Feuilly, feeling his face go red. He hated the moments whenever he had to tell his friends that he was in fact rather poor.

He hated standing next to Enjolras or Courfeyrac during rallies and looking like he was dressed in rags. It was not because he was vain or ashamed of his life, it was because he saw the looks of his friends. Because Enjolras would give him plated shirts in green and blue, stating that he never wore them and needed the space in his wardrobe. Feuilly had still found the prize tags on some, knowing full well that Enjolras had bought them just for him. The same applied to Combeferre who regularly 'mucked out' his bookshelf and gave his old books – many about Poland and from authors Feuilly liked but did not match Combeferre's taste – to Feuilly. He hated being poor because his friends burdened themselves with giving things to him that Feuilly could not afford. And Feuilly hated being a burden.

“That is not a problem at all!”, smiled Cosette mildly and started rummaging in her purse while the others drew closer, “You know that I run a fashion blog, don't you?!”

“I do.”, nodded Feuilly and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, in doing so, I get vouchers for certain shops for mentioning them once or twice...”

“Or twenty times...”, cut in Courfeyrac and ducked away from Cosette swatting good-naturedly for his head.

“Anyway!”, she grinned and showed Feuilly a hand full of vouchers, “I got these here and you know that Marius is too picky with his clothes to just go out and buy something. And before they end, I would rather want you to use them before throwing them away.”

“But _you_ earned them.”, argued Feuilly who felt the eyes of all the others on himself.

“Do I look like I shop at these shops?”, asked Cosette and waived the vouchers in front of Feuilly's face, “I usually don't wear men's clothing, so you'd really do me a great favour. Maybe we could even take a few pictures of you and then I'll post them to my blog...”

“You know that I'm not big in being... ehm... so present!”, said Feuilly and rubbed the back of his head a little uncomfortably.

“But you are gorgeous and once we're done with you, you'll look delicious!”, chipped Courfeyrac in and winked at the taller man, “Come on, we will have a little fun and you'll gain a few new outfits from it. And Cosette nice pictures for her special on male autumn-trends. We are all winners in that way!”

“I'm really not sure if this is a great idea...”, muttered Feuilly and felt how his shoulders tightened and lifted, a habit he had had since childhood – whenever he felt inadequate, awkward or a burden, he would make himself as small as possible. In the orphanages, he had been easier to oversee and the habit had stuck. So much that Bahorel had trained himself in seeing the tightness in Feuilly's shoulders before even he acknowledged it himself and immediately started to console him.

“Will you come with us if I promise you that you won't have to wear more than one outfit selected by Courfeyrac?”, asked Cosette and raised her forefinger – forbidding – at Courfeyrac without looking at him when he started protesting.

Feuilly felt a certain weight lifted off of his shoulders and upon seeing Courfeyrac' trademark poutTM, he smiled at Cosette and started nodding slowly. While she started grinning, he said: “But I get to choose how much we get for those vouchers and I get to decide whether something is really needed or not, all right?!”

“You're the king of the day, Feuilly! We pledge our unlimited obedience to you!”, grinned Courfeyrac and saluted like a soldier, winking mischivoulsy.

“Don't let Enjolras hear you calling dear Feuilly a king!”, laughed Joly and shook his head, “Or he might try and re-enact the beheading of King Louis XVI with our Feuilly in the lead-role!”

They laughed and even Feuilly found that he could chuckle freed of stress and worries for once. Maybe Joly was right, maybe it had been time for him to spend a day among friends and just not work for one day. Seeing how Musichetta smiled at him, he sensed that she knew his thoughts and winked at her.

“Right, let's go!”, said Cosette and said her goodbye-s to the others while Courfeyrac clapped his hand down on Feuilly's shoulder and stated: “This is going to be so much fun!”

“See you tonight, Feuilly!”, waived Bousset while he followed Musichetta and Joly down into the guts of the Metro-system.

“Tonight?”, asked Feuilly startled and looked at Courfeyrac, “Did Enjolras call a meeting?!”

Slightly panicked, he dug his mobile out, hoping that it had not broken and he did not receive the text from Enjolras calling the meeting. Having to buy a new mobile phone would be beyond his possibilities for this quarter. Maybe he could loan one from work?!

“Don't panic.”, said Courfeyrac and took his mobile from his hand, “It's not broken and no, Enjolras did not call a meeting.”

“What is tonight then?”, asked Feuilly and looked to Cosette who had a slight smirk on her face.

“You'll see.”, she prophecied and winked.

Feuilly shook his head. Firstly, since when did Courfeyrac possess the skill to read his minds? Second, why seemed everyone to know everything and he still had no clue what the heck was going on here?

 

~*~

 

“Here, try this one!”, said Cosette and handed him a plated shirt in gold, russet and dark green into the changing room.

“How much?”, asked Feuilly and wanted to glance at the price tag as Cosette swatted for his hand and winked.

“Not your concern!”, she warbled while Feuilly huffed and pulled the shirt over, calling out to Cosette: “Where's our styling-genius gone?”

“How do you know Courfeyrac is not here?”, asked Cosette, sounding amused.

“It's quiet.”, grinned Feuilly and looked at himself in the mirror. The shirt looked good, Cosette had exquisite taste and a good eye for people. And she had the ability to find things that suited Feuilly's taste – quite the contrary to Courfeyrac who had been dragging clothes to Feuilly that he would not even touch with tweezers. The silence outside the dressing room of the last shop they had visited meant that he was still searching for that one outfit Feuilly had had to try on. He prayed to every deity he could think of that the clothes were not as tight, colourful or hip as the last ones.

“I guess it is. But he's coming back any second, I reckon. How's the shirt?”, asked Cosette and pulled the curtain open, “WOW!”

“It's not bad...”, said Feuilly humbly and fiddled with the buttons a little while Cosette straightened his lapel and opened one more button at the top.

“Not bad is probably the understatement of the year!”, she smiled and shook her head, “I'd really like to stick you into some cosy coffee-shop right now, put a book into your hand and a coffee on the table and take a photo of that. Would be great, with all the autumn colours and such...”

“Ehm... why not?”, asked Feuilly who would feel bad about declining her wishes after she had gotten him two new jeans in the first shop they'd went to, new leather boots in the second and a warm jumper (with real cashmere!!!) from the third shop. He would never be able to make it up to her and was already trying to figure out how he could thank her properly.

“You guys, I think I am a genius!”, came Courfeyrac's voice from around the corner before the man himself followed, an arm full of clothing, “This is probably the best outfit I've ever found for one of you, including the red waistcoat outfit for Enjolras that managed to make Grantaire drop down an entire flight of stairs!”

Feuilly shook his head fondly about Courfeyrac's enthusiasm and just held his arms open for Courfeyrac to dump the clothes to a chant of “Try them on! Try them on! Try them oh-oooon!”

Closing the curtain, Feuilly gazed at the selection and found astonished that a) Courfeyrac had found clothes whose prize was in a tolerable range, even for Feuilly, b) they were looking like they would not cut off any blood circulation and c) colours, texture and cut looked like something Feuilly would actually wear.

Putting on the clothes, Feuilly listened to the plans Cosette and Courfeyrac made for taking at least one photo of him for the blog before they were to “hand him over”. Feuilly did not really want to know what that meant and felt a little bit like a child that needed constant watching.

“How's it going in there?”, called Courfeyrac, “Do you need help on the fly? I would generously volunteer to help you with the task!”

“Keep dreaming, Courf!”, laughed Feuilly and opened the curtain, spreading his arms and asking: “So, what do you say?”

Cosette and Courfeyrac stared wide eyed at him while he stole a glance at himself in the mirror to his side. Black jeans, black boots (his old ones), a white, tight cotton henley under a burgundy leather jacket, a black, knitted loop scarf and a black beany. He had to admit that he looked good.

“Gorgeous!”, said Cosette and beamed.

“Sexy as fuck!”, added Courfeyrac and winked, “Bahorel will start to drool once he sees you.”

“You think?”, asked Feuilly, blushing to the roots about the idea. He usually did not feel sexy or attractive with his pale skin, the millions of freckles, the slightly crocked teeth and too far apart eyes. But with his friends beaming at him like this, he might have an idea of what Bahorel saw in him.

“100% positive about that!”, affirmed Courfeyrac and made him turn around his own centre once, “Perfect. Right, I'm going to ask the shop-assistant if I can bring her the tags that you can keep those on because damn, if I didn't happen to have the most gorgeous, loving, intelligent and sexy boyfriend, I would hit on you immediately!”

“Don't forget about his Rugby playing, boxing, muscled and clever boyfriend either.”, grinned Cosette while Courfeyrac bustled off to talk to the girl behind the counter.

Feuilly's smile faltered a little about that remark. He still didn't want to think about Bahorel so much. He had been acting so strange in the past few weeks that Feuilly was not sure if everything between them was still good. He had asked, of course, but Bahorel had always waived him off, telling him that all was fine. Still, there was this feeling left in Feuilly that something was off, he just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

“Come on!”, said Cosette pleading and rubbed his upper arm, clearly making the wrong connection to his sour expression, “We've been through this and I promise it's all right to use all my vouchers! Don't worry, all right?!”

“Okay.”, said Feuilly sheepishly and considered just telling her what was on his mind but then Courfeyrac came charging back to them, whirling around him like a whirlwind, tugging all the prize tags off and disappearing with the vouchers again.

“I think the shop-assistant said yes.”, giggled Cosette and hooked herself under with Feuilly to guide him towards the entrance where Courfeyrac waited beside their pile of shopping bags – only a third of them Feuilly's as Courfeyrac had used the opportunity to get some new things for himself.

“That's it!”, said Courfeyrac and presented Cosette with the bill from this shop. She liked to keep track of her purchases, even if they came from vouchers. As soon as she had stored the bill away in her purse, she dragged Feuilly outside while he tumbled along, leaving Courfeyrac to take care of their purchases.

“Isn't this perfect?”, asked Cosette while she dragged him over the street and into a tiny green space just opposite from their last shopping destination.

“I have a feeling that you planned this.”, smiled Feuilly while Cosette dragged out her camera and made saucer wide eyes at him, blinking innocently.

“Why would you think that?”, she asked and beamed when Feuilly laughed and shook his head. She slightly pushed him towards one of the trees and directed, “Just lean against it, one foot propped against the trunk behind you. Hands in your pockets... Gorgeous!”

Feuilly hesitantly followed her orders and looked at her then, eyebrows raised and pulled together, his mouth a white line. He commanded his shoulders to relax as they had risen to unexpected heights again.

Cosette lowered the camera without taking a picture and said: “If you relax, we're finished here in the blink of an eye.”

“I don't know if this is such a good idea!”, muttered Feuilly who still did not move.

“Just think of Bahorel and don't look at the camera.”, directed Courfeyrac who joined them now, laden with all their shopping bags.

Feuilly gulped and looked to the ground for a moment, conjuring a bright smile that would convince his friends that everything was all right with him and his boyfriend. But before he could look up, he heard the tell-tale sound of the digital camera Cosette used and raised his eyes startled.

“Not the beaming smile I was hoping for, but I like your brooding face better in that setting.”, commented Cosette while going through the photos again, “You have some kind of... aristocratic philosopher thing going on when you frown like that.”

“Who's an aristocrat?”, greeted a familiar voice and Feuilly turned to look over his shoulder.

Enjolras and Combeferre came strolling down the pavement towards where the three of them had invaded the little green place for their impromptu photo session. Both of them were grinning and Enjolras was even shaking his head when Courfeyrac whooped and greeted his boyfriend a little too enthusiastic – for Feuilly's taste.

“Right on time!”, praised Cosette and leaned in to exchange kisses to both cheeks with Enjolras before she could welcome Combeferre.

“I suppose this is no chance meeting?”, smiled Feuilly and shook Enjolras' hand before patting Combeferre's shoulder.

“You are right about that.”, smiled the latter, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while winking at the ginger man, “What gave us away?”

“To be honest...”, sighed Feuilly and scratched the back of his head, “This has been such a weird day that I wouldn't even be surprised if I met the Queen of England!”

“Careful, Feuilly.”, chuckled Courfeyrac and nudged Enjolras smirking, “We've got anti-royalty supporters here.”

“Cut it out!”, snapped Enjolras good-naturedly and turned to Feuilly, “We hope you weren't too confused about all of it. We just thought you could use a break from life.”

“And all of this from you.”, sighed Feuilly and slung his arm around Enjolras' neck while the smaller man shrugged his shoulders.

“I know, right? Still can't believe I am doing this to you.”, he muttered full of irony but winked at Feuilly who shook his head.

“Don't be so overly dramatic!”, scolded Combeferre amused and checked his watch, “It's good for the both of you to have a day of leisure for once.”

“Hear who's talking!”, said Feuilly and Courfeyrac in unison and burst into laughter about Combeferre's indignant snort.

“Don't you have plans, you three?”, asked Cosette amused and looked pointedly at Enjolras.

“Oh, right!”, he said and turned to Feuilly, all business, “We will be having lunch now.”

“Should I be worried?”, asked Feuilly and looked at Combeferre who shook his head.

“Nothing major otherwise we'll miss the opening speech of the conference.”, he soothed Feuilly's worries which actually made him more worried and curious than before.

“Conference?”, he asked and looked at Enjolras who just gestured towards Combeferre who cleared his throat – completely in doctor-mode now.

“You remember my colleague whose child Courfeyrac and me used to babysit when she was younger?”, he asked and looked at Feuilly.

“Not... quite.”, stuttered the tall ginger and shot a quick glance to Enjolras who just shook his head a little and rolled his eyes, a sign that Feuilly didn't have to remember because they neither met the kid nor the parents.

“Oh well, a shame.”, said Combeferre a little remorseful but went on when Courfeyrac nudged him, “Anyway, her husband is working in the Slavic department of the Sorbonne and told me about this really great conference on the topic of struggles of freedom in Slavic countries and today is centred all around...”

“You're joking?!”, asked Feuilly nervous and grabbed Combeferre's shoulder, feeling warmth rise in his chest and into his cheeks while excitement took a hold of him, “A whole day about Poland?!”

“Well, technically it's just one afternoon...”, started Combeferre but Enjolras cut in: “Yes, that's what it is. And Combeferre enlisted us to be guests at the conference. So we'll be hearing talks about the Kościuszko Uprising and the Cadet Revolution and some kind of debate about the time under Napoleon.”

Feuilly heard the words but could not really comprehend it at first. A conference? About Poland? A whole day where everyone in the room would be talking about nothing but Poland? He had always been interested in the history of that country and now he should sit in a lecture hall with scholars and hear scientific talks about his favourite country during his favourite period? Without having to pay a single Euro for it?!

“I think you broke him!”, heard Feuilly Courfeyrac mutter to Combeferre before he snapped out of his haze.

“You are the best!”, he all but shrieked and hugged Combeferre hard who seemed taken aback at first but patted his back then.

After letting Combeferre go, he whirled to Enjolras and asked: “And you are coming? I mean, it's Poland, not France. And I know how worked up you get when you hear of failed revolutions!!!”

“Well, we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, haven't we?”, asked Enjolras and tried to look all heroic and ready to sacrifice himself but laughed when Feuilly hugged him as well.

“This is so great!”, rejoiced Feuilly and beamed at all his friends, “This is possibly the greatest thing someone has ever done for me!"

“It's just a conference, mate.”, laughed Courfeyrac and clapped his back soothingly, “You'll give yourself a heart attack if you don't calm down anytime soon.”

“You don't understand!”, gasped Feuilly and hugged Courfeyrac just because he felt so soaring happy, “Poland!”

Courfeyrac laughed happily and hugged Feuilly as well, squeezing the taller man so much that he thought his ribs might bruise. But he did not say anything because nothing – not one thing on this earth – could dampen his mood. A whole afternoon, scientific, well founded and serious talking and debating about Poland – a dream come true!

“We really should get going.”, warned Combeferre with a glimpse to his watch, “Time's in short supply as it is already!”

“Where do you want to have lunch?”, asked Enjolras and Feuilly just shook his head, feeling so nervous that he had to concentrate to hinder himself from bouncing on the spot.

“I think we just skip lunch and go there right away to get good seats!”, he proposed and looked wide eyed at Combeferre who rolled his eyes fondly and smirked.

“Very well, so we'll get some sandwiches on the way and be there early.”, he said, turning to Cosette and Courfeyrac to say his farewells.

Feuilly was too caught up in his euphoria to remember thanking Cosette and Courfeyrac or even to say goodbye to them. He only remembered that they were leaving when Cosette called to him: “See you tonight, Feuilly!”

“Tonight?”, he asked Combeferre who had stepped beside him and lead him down the street to the next Metro station, “Will you tell me what's going on tonight?”

“Are we allowed to tell him?”, asked Combeferre and leaned forward to see Enjolras walking on Feuilly's other side.

Enjolras' face grew dark and severe and he threatened: “Not one word, Ferre! We promised.”

“All right!”, sighed Combeferre and cast a glance at Feuilly whose eyes were shining and cheeks glowing red. He was already in thoughts again and did not even catch the end of their conversation. Smiling, he shook his head and was content and happy about the fact that they could make their serious friend so happy by simply sitting in a dusty lecture hall with him all afternoon.

 

~*~

 

“The really amazing thing is...”, said Feuilly as they climbed up the stairs to his flat, still in raptures about the conference, “That he used all his knowledge from his time in America to plan the uprising. I mean, just imagine someone like _Lafayette_ would have done the same. Then 1832 would have ended so much more differently than it has!”

“True.”, smiled Combeferre while Enjolras just shook his head amused. Both of them had not been able to contribute more than a word at a time to Feuilly's monologues since they had left the university.

A little sheepishly, Feuilly stopped at the top of the stairs and turned around, smiling apologetic: “I'm sorry, I'll stop now.”

Again, he felt bad about taking up all their time, he knew how few Saturdays Combeferre and Enjolras actually took the liberty for themselves to have a day off and now here he was, still going on about the conference although they had been there with him and had heard everything he repeated just now.

“Don't be.”, grinned Enjolras and wrapped his arm around Feuilly's lower back because reaching for his shoulders would have meant standing on tiptoes and Enjolras was not very fond of any kind of reminder about how much smaller he was than friends like Combeferre, Feuilly or Bahorel, “It's great seeing you like that. You seldom get passionate about things.”

“Not entirely true.”, contradicted Feuilly while he dug through his shoulder bag, looking for his keys, “I'm just usually able to control myself a little better.”

“Then don't do it. The controlling, I mean.”, chipped Combeferre in while Feuilly turned to the door of his flat, “It's better seeing you all flushed and excited than sullen and quiet in the corner!”

Feuilly grinned sheepish at him and shrugged his shoulders. Once he was about to push the key into the lock, he stopped and realized a thing that had not come to his mind ever since the conference had ended.

“Why did you follow me home?”, he asked, probably not really conveying what he meant but the other two took his meaning fast enough.

“Because it was a stroke of luck that you were going home but not questioning our following.”, smiled Combeferre and motioned with his chin towards the door.

“What do you mean?”, asked Feuilly confused and suddenly had a very bad feeling about opening the door to his flat. What was going on here? Had this day been not weird – and fantastic - enough as it had been?

“Just open the door already!”, laughed Enjolras and pushed him slightly.

Still glaring questioningly at his friends, Feuilly slowly turned around and opened the door. His heart was pounding from nervousness and his mind was running a hundred miles per hour while he was wondering what the hell was going on now. Stepping into his small flat, he had definitely not calculated on the things he saw.

His tiny dinner table had grown by some mythical force he could not quite pinpoint for the moment. It stood in the middle of his kitchen/dinning room/living room/study while the sofa, the coffee table and the stacks of his books had been pushed to the back wall. Everything seemed cleaner and brighter and Feuilly recognized that someone had changed the old, grey curtains to cremé coloured, lighter ones.

His eyes roamed back to the table which was laden with cutlery and crockery. The table was set like for a big dinner – maybe one could even call it a feast – with wine glasses, water glasses, four sets of cutlery, candles, napkins – not the cheap paper ones, real cloth napkins! – and a centre piece made from colourful leaves, small pumpkins and even more candles. The table was set for eleven people and Feuilly wondered where the hell all those chairs came from?! He owned three if one counted the old, shaky and unstable chair that served as his hat-rack.

“No!”

Feuilly turned to see Grantaire – standing in his tiny kitchenette – throwing an oven glove to the ground and pointing an angry finger at Enjolras who stepped into the flat behind Feuilly.

“I told you a thousand times to text me when you leave!”, he ranted and Feuilly turned startled to Enjolras who paled visible – a rare sight.

“Oh shoot... sorry, I...”, he stuttered as Grantaire groaned agitated and turned towards the stoves again where four pots were boiling quietly.

“Nevermind!”, groaned the painter and shrugged his shoulders, giving back in a snarly tone: “So now the soufflés won't be ready in time, but who cares, I've just been cooking my butt off the last two hours but who cares if I get everything ready in time for eleven people!”

“Please calm down...”, came a calm voice from Feuilly's bedroom and he saw startled how Marius and Jehan emerged from the room, jeans, shirts and hands splattered with paint, faces aglow with happiness upon seeing the arrivals, “There's no need to shout, Henri, the others are not here yet and I bet the soup is ready to serve so the soufflés will have enough time to go into the oven once the others arrive.”

“What the hell...?”, managed Feuilly to mutter who could simply not believe his eyes.

While Marius was waiving frantically at him, calling a hello towards him because he couldn't get to him as Combeferre and Enjolras – and the vast dining table – were blocking his way, Jehan simply balanced over the five chairs to the left side of the table and jumped to the ground in front of Feuilly, wrapping both arms around the taller man and snuggling their cheek into Feuilly's chest.

“What a pleasure to see you!”, they purred and smiled at Feuilly then.

“What were you doing in my bedroom?”, asked Feuilly suspiciously and was rewarded for the question with an airy giggle from Jehan. But they just winked and stepped back. Seeing that Marius was busy talking to Combeferre and Enjolras – who was shooting worried and sheepish glances towards Grantaire – Feuilly sighed and asked: “I doubt that you'll tell me what's going on, won't you?”

“Not a word. But Bahorel will be here shortly, then you'll know.”, smiled Jehan and turned around then, asking Combeferre about a book they wanted to borrow from him.

Cursing from the kitchenette made Feuilly turn around and he hurried to Grantaire's side to help him pull one pot from the stove that was about to boil over.

“Thanks!”, sighed Grantaire and pushed the sweaty bangs from his forehead, smiling a little stressed at the taller man, “Sometimes I just have not enough arms.”

“Why are you cooking a four courses menu in my barely functioning kitchen, Taire?”, asked Feuilly half amused and watched Grantaire take a gigantic swig from what seemed to be red wine he had used for cooking.

“Because trusting Enjolras or Jehan with a pot and a stove would have probably ended in a fire.”, grinned Grantaire and stirred one pot that contained soup – in a rich orange and with the distinct smell of pumpkin.

“Well, yes I know...”, chuckled Feuilly. It was not a secret that barely any of his friends were able to cook. He and Éponine were good at making a decent cup of coffee or any other hot beverage required but in cooking, they were probably just as bad as Enjolras and Jehan – and Enjolras had managed to set fire to Combeferre's toaster once they had moved in together. Even Musichetta who came from an Italian family and loved baking was no competition to Grantaire when it came to cooking. He was just a master in the kitchen – but only rarely cooked for them. That he was now stirring the pots and preparing soufflés meant that something important was going on – or was about to happen.

“Seriously, will _you_ at least tell me what's going on?”, he asked in a low murmur then and stepped closer to Grantaire. The smaller man looked up to him from under his lashes and checked over his shoulder what the others were doing. Feuilly gloated inwardly for he had finally found the weak link who would tell him what was going on besides his friends being utterly sweet and nice to him.

“All right, listen up...”, whispered Grantaire and rose to his tiptoes, stretching to whisper even lower: “It's... a secret!”

Feuilly groaned exasperated and pushed Grantaire a little who chuckled happily and checked something in another pot.

“And I thought I could trust you!”, complained Feuilly ironically while the others drew closer.

“You can, but I will not direct Bahorel's wrath at me for spoiling his surprise!”, gave Grantaire back and reached for Enjolras' hand as he stepped towards him, lifting the hand to his lips to press a quick kiss to the back. Enjolras winked and Grantaire smiled and Feuilly knew that everything was forgiven – even the delay of the soufflés.

“I'm dying to know what he's planned...”, grumbled Feuilly who still couldn't help but think about Bahorel's odd behaviour of late. Slowly it was dawning on him that maybe he had planned this day all along and had not spent as much time with him anymore because he had been so busy. A bad conciousness washed over Feuilly for thinking Bahorel did not love him anymore.

“And I can't wait for him to tell you!”, giggled Jehan and pressed their paint splattered hands to their lips to hide their grin.

“So what's that paint all about?”, asked Feuilly and raised his chin towards Jehan's hands and Marius, who seemed to consist of more paint than human. If his eyes were not mistaken, there was even a generous amount of paint in Marius' hair.

“Well, we thought that this flat could need a touch up or two!”, said Marius and shrugged his shoulders, “And after what you did for me when I moved into that crappy little whole of a flat three years ago, I thought it would only be fair to try and do the same thing for you.”

“You really don't have to do that!”, said Feuilly and struggled to press along the chairs to get to Marius who beckoned for him to follow into his own bedroom.

Arriving there, Feuilly's eyes widened. Had he left a gloomy, small and dark room in the morning, he now entered an open, friendly and fresh looking room. The curtains had been swapped and matched the ones in his living room. There were dark over-curtains, hung to the side, that would hold off the light during the nights. A new bedside table stood there, small and white, crowned with a new alarm clock and a frame, filled with a picture of all of them during their last vacation – the only time that Les Amis de l'ABC had managed to spent some time together without planning a political change.

A new bookshelf hung over the headboard, filled with the novels he usually stacked on the window sill. Two frames with photos of himself and Bahorel – one from Bahorel's first ever victory in a fight and the other kissing during Marius' and Cosette's wedding – hung to each side of the shelf. And his bed had changed as well. It had been painted in white and had new sheets, cushions, pillows and covers.

And although the style was not entirely what Feuilly would have chosen for himself, he felt tears burn in his eyes when he matched the new wall-colour to the paint all over his friends. A soft hand was placed on his shoulder and he looked down at Jehan who was gaping at him through sorrowful eyes.

“Do you like it?”, they asked carefully and scratched the nape of their neck, biting on their lower lip while they searched Feuilly's eyes.

“I... Jehan...”, he stumbled over the words while his heart raced, the tears clearly showing on his face and Jehan's eyes widened with the view. Feuilly shook off every last bit of restraint and wrapped his shorter and much lighter friend in a bear-hug – the ones Bahorel usually gave all of them – and lifted them off their feet while mumbling against their temple: “I love it!”

“You do?!”, laughed Jehan and wrapped their arms around Feuilly to squeeze tight, “I'm so happy!”

“We were not sure if it was your style.”, admitted Marius sheepishly while Feuilly placed Jehan back on their feet and went over to hug the preschool teacher as well, a thing that rarely happened and felt both strange yet welcome to both of them.

“I wouldn't have done it myself.”, agreed Feuilly but let his eyes roam over all the pictures they had placed in the various corners of his bedroom and smiled happily, “But I really love what you made out of the room, it's gorgeous!”

“Like you!”, beamed Jehan and took then Feuilly's hand to drag him back into the main room.

Still red-faced and with glassy eyes, Feuilly was beckoned to the head of the table and Combeferre made him sit down, probably fearing that he might collapse any second. He was definitely spending too much time with Joly, Feuilly thought amused.

“All right, soup is ready and those scumbags are not here yet so...”, grumbled Grantaire, about to take the pot from the oven, when the front door lock clicked and Bahorel pushed the door open.

Feuilly had no eyes for all the other people crowding the hallway behind his boyfriend for his eyes were mesmerized by what he saw. Bahorel had cleaned up, had shaven his wild beard to a short, well kept bristly length – some of the grey even more prominent than in the wild beard but Feuilly loved him anyway – and had brushed his hair for once. He wore a black jacket over a white t-shirt and black suit trousers – Feuilly had not even known Bahorel owned any. But the most beautiful sight was the smile Bahorel was bestowing on Feuilly when he saw him sitting at the table already.

“Oh, you're already there! Damn, must've forgotten the time!”, he laughed, sounding nervous, and ushered all the others into the flat before closing the door. He had brought back everyone and soon all the seats around the table were taken. Feuilly had gotten up and strolled to Bahorel who held himself in the background, lingering by the door while Grantaire dished out their first course.

“Hey.”, smiled Feuilly and raised to tiptoes to kiss Bahorel – who was a giant of a man.

“You've had a good day?!”, he asked and scratched behind his right ear, a nervous habit he could not shake off.

“I did.”, grinned Feuilly and interwove their fingers slowly, “And I was told this was mainly your doing!?”

“Uhu.”, made Bahorel and licked his lips, his eyes flickering to the congregation of their friends in Feuilly's back and back to his boyfriend's eyes, “Did you... ehm... was it okay?”

“Okay?!”, echoed Feuilly unbelieving and kissed the corner of Bahorel's mouth, “I got a day off, got to have breakfast in a posh tea room, been gifted a whole new set of clothes and got to listen to a few scholars going on about Poland for three hours... That sounds more like amazing, to be honest.”

Bahorel's face broke into a slow, soft smile and he bent forward to kiss Feuilly's forehead before giving his hand a squeeze.

“I'm glad.”, he admitted and winked at Feuilly, “I've been afraid you'd be angry with me.”

“You're an idiot.”, chuckled Feuilly and kissed Bahorel's knuckles while latter just pushed him – a little too rough and too strong to be considered fondly, but that was just how they functioned.

“Come and sit down, the soup will be completely cold if you keep snogging each other by the door!”, echoed Courfeyrac's voice over to them and the others laughed delighted.

Feuilly and Bahorel returned to the table and took their seats while Musichetta handed their plates over from where Grantaire poured soup into their bowls. The food was delicious and every course better than the last. They had pumpkin soup with ginger, lamb's lettuce with fresh mushrooms and roasted pine nuts and roast beef that was so tender Feuilly wanted to cry with mashed potatoes and glazed vegetables. And when Feuilly thought he had to burst from all the food, Grantaire put his napkin down and declared: “Right, now for the desert!”

“Hold on a moment.”, said Bahorel and waived Grantaire to sit down. Startled, the young artist did as he was bid.

Bahorel turned to Feuilly who sat by his left side and gulped visibly. During their dinner he had barely spoken and laughed very few times, completely untypical for him. Feuilly had already brooded over what might be wrong with him but had not come to any conclusion for he had been wrapped up in multiple conversations about his day, the conference or his new clothes. Now though his attention snapped back to his boyfriend and he found how pale he looked.

“I... I would like to...”, he stuttered and sighed deeply when Jehan, sitting next to him, placed a hand on his shoulder and advised him to take a deep breath.

“Right... I just need a moment, then we'll have desert.”, announced Bahorel and turned fully to Feuilly with a very serious expression that made the young ginger man raise both eyebrows worried.

“Feuilly, we've organized this day for two reasons. First, you are always the one to put yourself behind our interests, wants and needs and you never complain. Second, you work your gorgeous butt off on a daily basis and invest nearly all of your free time in the work of the ABC. And no one really thanks you for your efforts. So, this is our way of showing you that you are not forgotten or taken for granted and that we care deeply for you, all of us.”

“Bahorel...”, stuttered Feuilly, feeling highly uncomfortable with his boyfriend talking so openly and all of his friends nodding and smiling along to his words.

“But that was not the sole purpose of this dinner.”, said Bahorel and reached over the table to take Feuilly's hand in his, “I... I know I've been difficult and closed up in the last few weeks but that was just because... damn, sorry, I wanted this to be so special because I wanted you to know how much I love you.”

“I know that, you don't have to...”, started Feuilly who felt his face go hot and his throat tight while tears pricked at his eyes.

“Let me finish, please.”, begged Bahorel whose eyes were so intense that Feuilly could simply not look away, “You've stepped into my life five years ago and I could still kiss Grantaire for convincing me to accompany him to the meeting after boxing class. Because without him, I wouldn't have met the single most important person on this planet.”

Feuilly gulped and felt Bahorel's hand shake on his, his voice cracking at every other word while both men seemed to have forgotten their friends staring wide-eyed, expectantly and loving at them. Bahorel bit his lip for a second, then he continued: “I know that life has not been easy for you, Laurant”, Feuilly's heart stuttered for a moment because Bahorel only called him by his first name at the most important or serious moments in their relationship, “and I know that you will never understand that the hard part is over now. Because you have me now. And I will help you through every low point on your way or every turn you are afraid to take. Please, let me take care of you and protect you wherever you go. And therefore...”

Bahorel let Feuilly's hand go and slipped off his chair, kneeling down in front of Feuilly with one hand in the pocket of his trousers. Feuilly's heart was racing and his head reeling. He felt dizzy and like a bucket of boiling water had been poured out over him but he could not look away nor make a sound while Bahorel drew his hand back out.

Slowly, he opened his fist and showed Feuilly his palm. On his dark skin, two rings of gold shone in the flickering light of the candles on the table. They were simple, just ornamented by some fine lines forming a chain of triangles around the outer side of the ring.

Slowly Feuilly raised his eyes to Bahorel's which were wide and afraid and hopeful and fond and loving at the same time. Bahorel licked his lips and rasped barely audible: “Would you marry me?!”

Feuilly gasped while his vision blacked out for a second, then joy flooded through him and seemed to drown him. He could not speak and shook from head to toe. He could not believe it. How could one person want him so badly that they were willing to spend the rest of their life with him? Him, of all people? The boy with the emotional baggage too big to leave behind, the one who thought himself so small and unimportant, the one who never thought he was worthy of something.

And yet there he was, the man Feuilly had lost his heart to when he had seen him during the second meeting he attended. The man Feuilly would do everything for and the only person on this world who Feuilly thought he could open up to, who would not push him away and who might – just maybe – happen to want him around for his sake.

The nod came nearly without his doing. And it got faster and faster until Feuilly's vision blurred. Bahorel and he leaped to their feet nearly in unison and wrapped their arms around each other. A little voice in the back of Feuilly's mind reminded him that he should not squeeze so hard or Bahorel might suffocate while he buried his face at Bahorel's neck, panting little _yes_ -s into the damp skin. Then again, Bahorel was crushing his ribcage so hard that Feuilly was not sure if he would survive this proposal either.

“I love you!”, muttered Bahorel and when Feuilly drew back to kiss him, he saw tears in the dark eyes of the man he loved.

“I love you too.”, he grumbled before crushing their lips together to kiss his boyfriend – no, fiancé! – with everything he had just to show him how much he really needed and wanted to be his husband.

As they finally let go off each other, reality sank back in and they got aware of their friends having gotten up and crowding around them, cheering and laughing and crying – although Enjolras would deny that until the day he died – and beaming like little suns.

Bahorel laughed and wrapped an arm around Jehan's shoulders to squeeze them tight while Courfeyrac bounced up and down next to Feuilly, hugging him breathtakingly tight. And while Feuilly took the well-wishes of his friends, he suddenly realized something.

“You knew!”, he said and did not mean to sound so accusatory when he pointed at Éponine who was coming towards him now, “All of you knew!”

“Yes, we did.”, declared Joly proud and laughed when he saw how betrayed Feuilly looked.

“Why do you think we kept you out of the flat the whole day?”, asked Musichetta and shook her head.

“Someone had to prepare the proposal dinner without you knowing.”, declared Grantaire and nodded happily.

“And someone had to go choose the rings with Bahorel without you knowing.”, supplied Combeferre another explanation. And while thinking back, Feuilly remembered that Bahorel _had_ spent unusual large amounts of time with Ferre in the last few weeks.

“I can't believe this.”, laughed Feuilly and hid his face in his hands, chuckling overjoyed.

“Without the help of my friends... well, our friends, I would not have been able to do this.”, admitted Bahorel and drew Feuilly into another scorching kiss.

“Not our friends...”, smiled Feuilly while he looked up at the man who was going to be his husband hopefully sooner than later, “Our family!”

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Feuilly Appreciation Week '15 (and am so glad that I finished it in time *phew*)! This was more of a start-writing-and-see-what-comes-off-it project than a planned out story, but I think every piece on Feuilly is a good piece, considering that there are so few Feuilly-centred pieces :(
> 
> I hope you liked it and if you have, I'm always happy to meet new people, so come say hi on [tumblr](http://bramblesforbreakfast.tumblr.com/)...


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